


Seed

by penstab



Series: Echo [1]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Illustrated, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Injury
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-03-26
Packaged: 2018-05-19 23:53:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5985337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penstab/pseuds/penstab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first child falls and finds a family. Everyone in the underground knows this story. </p><p>Illustrated Chara study.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The sound of wind rushing by. Impact. Something snaps—a sick crunch. Stunned silence, all air slammed from their lungs—then harsh, gulping gasps, each breath bringing with it new waves of dizzying pain. A shout they hardly recognize as their own. Have they ever raised their voice like this before? They can’t remember, can’t focus, but they scream now, in pain and confusion and fear, until their throat feels raw and exhaustion overwhelms them.

Stillness. No sound but unsteady breathing and steady drips of water from somewhere above. Rain or groundwater from the surface? It’s seeped into the floor of the cavern, and the damp soil beneath them is cold. They lie very still, too tired to even lift their head.

Eventually the pain eases, or at least becomes something distant, something separate, and their breathing eases with it. It isn’t so bad, now.

They only have to wait.

* * *

 

 

* * *

But somebody comes.  
  
Quiet, uncertain footsteps; a quiet, uncertain voice. Soft hands help them up, steady arms support them as pain reawakens, a blaze of fire in their lungs and down their side. The cavern spins, and they catch glimpses of bright, worried eyes; a kind, shy smile.  
  
A monster.

* * *

 

 

* * *

It’s a long way home.


	2. Chapter 2

 

* * *

 

 

 

* * *

  

“Do not be afraid, my child,” she says. “You are going to be all right.”

The pads of her paws are cool against their forehead. The abrupt absence of pain is almost as disorienting as another fall. They’re falling again.


	3. Chapter 3

* * *

He leaves flowers by the bed while they sleep, follows up with a tray of tea and cookies when they wake. The tray is doll-like in his enormous, clawed hands. Paws? They stare, bleary, trying to settle on the right word, trying to focus through the haze of their thoughts—they haven’t been able to think clearly since the fall, and though the Queen lifted away their pain, what was left behind was a deep, unabating exhaustion.

The King is saying something, but Chara—focused on the sight of huge paws pouring tea with practiced ease—misses most of it. It takes them several seconds to realize they’re supposed to take the cup when it’s offered.

“Made with flowers from my garden,” the King says, beaming. The tea’s fragrance is unfamiliar but comforting, and it fills them throughout with a strange spreading warmth. They let it go cold after one sip.

Next time, he brings chocolate milk.

* * *

  


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All that’s left of their fall is this muted sensation of healing bruises, and even that will disappear soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor CW for very very mild self harming and some illustrations of nasty bruises

* * *

Asriel visits often while they recover, bringing books and toys and even more flowers from the garden. They don’t interest Chara at all. They watch him instead; the fangs in his mouth, the surprising delicacy of stubby paws—hands?—gripping crayons. He isn’t anything at all what they’d imagine a prince to be like; shy, nearly timid at first, but quick to smile, restless and full of eager curiosity. His books are dog-eared and worn, and most of his toys are simple, hand-carved affairs. Half the time his knees are green with grass stains, his fur smudged with dirt.

For a prince of monsters, he’s disconcertingly ordinary.

He’s also clearly anxious to make a good impression. Chara’s not sure why—they’re the intruder here. But if Asriel minds giving up the use of his own room and bed to a stranger, let alone a human, he hasn’t shown it yet.

* * *

They heal quickly under the Queen’s care. In the few days it takes for the fog in Chara’s head to clear and their focus to return, their many fractures—in their ribs, their arm, their collarbone—have neatly knitted back together. Their entire left side has bloomed into a startling mass of bruises, but they’re only a little tender to the touch, even without the Queen’s magic.

“If you feel well enough, we would be happy to have you join us for lunch,” she says. It’s the fourth day since their arrival. “I do not know if it will be to your tastes,” she adds, and her apologetic smile is a mirror of Asriel’s, “but I have baked a pie for dessert.”

Chara knows. They could smell it from their room, could hear Asriel’s muffled, bright, joyful laughter through the walls. They’d felt something like an itch, a squirming beneath their skin, a feeling of wrongness—of displacement. Of intruding on the intimacy of this home, even secluded and separated as they are in Asriel’s room. The thought of moving closer, intruding even further…

The Queen pats their hand. If she sees something in their face, she says nothing about it, says only, “There is no rush, my child. I will bring you a plate if you do not feel up to moving around just yet. But you are welcome to join us any time.”

When she leaves, Chara squeezes the bruises on their arm, their side, feels at their ribs, presses hard enough to make new bruises. Between the magic and their concussion, they’d barely felt anything for days, but now—detached, methodical, like picking at a scab—they touch their face and try to remember what it was like to fall. All they can call up is the knowledge that there was pain—not the memory of it. The knowledge that they heard their own bones break, but no real recollection of the sound.

All that’s left of their fall is this muted sensation of healing bruises, and even that will disappear soon.

* * *

 

* * *

New Home is like Asriel; ordinary, cozy, unbefitting their imagined ideas of royalty. It feels far more unreal to Chara than a fairytale castle would have. The golden crowns the King and Queen wear, disproportionately small between their curved horns, seem out of place here.

They imagine Asriel—still grubby, dressed in scuffed, baggy clothing—topped with a tiny jeweled crown of his own. They feel like they should want to laugh at the absurdity of it. They don’t.

* * *

 

* * *

On the sixth day since their arrival, they allow themself to be coaxed out for meals.

* * *

 

* * *

They still can’t get used to the food here, the way it seems to fizz throughout their body as soon as they take a bite. It’s definitely not a _bad_ feeling, but it’s strange, and each mouthful only emphasizes their sense of not belonging.

But it would attract the King and Queen’s attention if they didn’t eat, they think. That would be a hassle, so they focus on taking bite after bite, letting the sound of cheerful conversation wash over them.

Monster food is strange, but it tastes good.

* * *

 

* * *

On the seventh morning, with the last of Chara’s bruises faded almost to imperceptibility, the King and Queen send Asriel out to the garden alone. Chara sits on the edge of the big armchair and tries not to hunch down, tries to sit straight, feels too small and too alien and too on edge in this uncomfortably cozy home to settle back into the cushions. They stare at the fire and try to ignore the sick, squirmy feeling rising in their gut.

The King drags over two chairs from the table for the Queen and himself. Chara watches from the edges of their vision, sees them share a long, uneasy look. The Queen is the first to speak.

“Um,” she starts. And then, “This is not easy.”

Chara watches the fire. The Queen tries again.

“Are you comfortable here? Is there anything you need?”

Chara shrugs.

“We understand that you must be anxious to return home.”

They tense, clench their hands. Carefully unclench, bring their hands together on their lap. Begin picking at their nails. There’s wood in the fireplace, but it doesn’t actually seem to be burning. The flames dancing over the logs are quiet, throwing out no sparks.

“We—Asgore and I—want to help you as much as we can. But,” she hesitates, shares another glance with the King, “we—that is, all of us in the underground—are trapped here behind the barrier. We have yet to find a way out. I’m afraid we have no way to return you to the surface.”

She stops to let this sink in, to give Chara a chance to process, to react—to cry, maybe. But Chara only draws in a slow, steady breath as they watch flames flicker. The tightness in their stomach begins to ease.

They look directly at the King and Queen for the first time. “I can’t go back?”

Despite their carefully neutral tone, they can see the question hurts both monsters. Chara lets their gaze slide back to the fire, unable to meet the sympathy in their eyes.

“My child,” the Queen says, pained, and the King reaches for her hand.

“I know this must be hard,” he says at the same time. He gives the Queen’s hand a squeeze. “But I promise you, for as long as you remain here, my wife and I will take care of you as best we can. We will do everything in our power to give you a good life here, Chara.”

Another breath. When they don’t respond, the Queen says, “Is there anything we can do for you right now? Is there anything you want?”

* * *

 

* * *

They still can’t get used to the food here, but they will. They have time.


	5. Chapter 5

The King has a second bed brought in, a twin to his son’s, and though they watch him closely, Chara still can’t find in Asriel’s face or words any sign of resentment at having to share his room.

Resentment, no—he’s _nervous_.

Chara has to bite back a laugh. A prince in his own home, nervous! But he’s ordinary, after all. He did well enough playing ambassador, a gracious host to an injured guest, but actually living together is something else entirely, and it’s obvious he’s not sure how to proceed.

In fact, since the morning’s talk, the entire family has been treating Chara delicately. When Chara displayed no immediate signs of grief, no one pushed the subject. But they all clearly expect it, and every attentive gesture, every kind word, every look dripping with sympathy grates on Chara’s nerves. They want to laugh, or to spit, or to throw the Queen’s stupid, magic pies in the fake, magic fire, and see if they burn or not. They don’t want to cry. They don’t want to deal with the monsters’ concern, the assumptions about the pain they imagine Chara must be experiencing. Their pity. Chara would rather laugh.

But they don’t—not at the misplaced sympathy, and not at the prince’s awkward, stumbling attempts at conversation. 

 

It’s elegant in its simplicity. Chara turns it over in their hands, surprised at the thinness of the metal. They’re tempted to test its strength—to grip it in both hands and push and pull until it bends out of shape. Would the gems pop out? What kind of expression would Asriel make then?

They put it on.

Asriel claps, apparently delighted by this flagrant disrespect for royalty. “It looks good on you! You should go look in the mirror,” he says, excited, but Chara’s already taking it off, making a face. “It doesn’t fit right,” they lie. “Our heads are shaped too differently.” Asriel makes a disappointed noise, cut short when Chara reaches over and places the circlet on his head, instead.

 

It looks natural. Asriel sits in his pajamas, shyly awaiting Chara’s response, and the jeweled circlet sits as naturally on his head as any crown on any fairytale prince ever written. And he’s nervous about _Chara_. They snort.

 

Asriel stares at Chara with wonder as some unseen tension breaks, and all the irritation, all the squirming unpleasant tightness just beneath their skin finally recedes. It’ll come back—it’s never gone for long. But for now Chara laughs, and laughs, and feels a strange, vicious fondness.


End file.
